To Light A Candle

Before the heart repairs, before the yes,
a limbo life where living with the pain
will challenge every fibre that remains
to aid her healing, to conquer her distress.
The sign hung on his door said ‘Knock Then Leave,’
her private man required his private space;
old photographs are friends who help her grieve,
remind her still how love lights up a face.
It may not be the hour, the day or week
when all clocks stopped, or when after the trial
of meals alone where empty chairs don’t speak,
she will square her shoulders, gently smile,
and with that smile a stone will roll away.
‘I will light a candle.’ That’s all she’ll say.